


i enter bearing offerings (of precious things)

by sinningjul (Julx3tte)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous Relationships, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Kinktober, Multi, OT3, ingrid loving hours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:54:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26850994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julx3tte/pseuds/sinningjul
Summary: this is *the bear*, a dorogridvain story about helping your ex tell your girlfriend she loves her.“Doro, do you trust me?” Sylvain asks, restraining himself from raising his eyebrows. Dorothea can tell, just by looking. The answer is, not no.“Yes. But specifically what?” she asks, looking for more information. Only a few things were important enough for a visit over a text or waiting until their next dinner date and Doro is torn between thinking this is a serious thing and a stupid thing and an excuse to see her.Sylvain’s eyes narrow enough to tell her it’s the former.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Dorothea Arnault/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 13
Kudos: 35





	i enter bearing offerings (of precious things)

**Author's Note:**

> 5k in 2 days just hits sometimes....
> 
> enjoy and drink water PLEASE good lord.

Sylvain’s text is ominous as hell, but Dorothea sends a thumbs up anyway and lets Sylvain into her study at the conservatory, where he promptly sits and doesn’t make any small talk. He’s clearly on a break from whatever work he’s up to at the palace, because his ID badge is still pinned to his blazer, but there’s a boyish look on his face that makes Dorothea even more concerned about whatever he’s about to say.

Instead of his usual opening line, he hands her a bar of her favorite chocolate and asks an _extremely_ foreboding question and Dorothea wants to kick him out right there.

“Doro, do you trust me?” Sylvain asks, restraining himself from raising his eyebrows. Dorothea can tell, just by looking. The answer is, not no.

“Yes. But specifically what?” she asks, looking for more information. Only a few things were important enough for a visit over a text or waiting until their next dinner date and Doro is torn between thinking this is a serious thing and a stupid thing and an excuse to see her. 

Sylvain’s eyes narrow enough to tell her it’s the former. 

“Ingrid,” he says, and Dorothea clicks her tongue.

“Oh.”

The look she throws Sylvain is a dagger, but the stupid doof just smiles, the kind that crinkles his eyes and tells her he’s not just pulling her strings and is trying to say something of substance, so she relents and purses her lips instead.

Sylvain smiles warmly. “She likes you, you know.”

The words send ice right up Dorothea’s spine.

Dorothea loves Sylvain, she really does. He’s been there for her forever. Since they met at the thing and realized they were the same and ran into the same kind of assholes, men and women alike, they’ve been looking after each other ever since.

But it’s nothing like the way she probably loves Ingrid. 

She’s not even sure when the hell she figured it out, though it’s probably obvious in hindsight. Doro’s just never stopped for long enough to think about it.

One day it was just there, and a second later it felt immediately out of reach. Since then she’s carried _it_ \-- the worry that Ingrid’s not really ever going to be available, that she’s too straight or that her blooming relationship with Sylvain was the end and their childhood friendship too much to overcome romantically -- with her and never looked back.

When she and Sylvain were together, Ingrid hadn’t come back to their lives yet. Ingrid was still in the military, chasing Glenn’s ghost, and Sylvain’s said a few too honest things about waiting for Ingrid to come back while the two of them were together that Doro’s never been sure she'd ever even had a shot at either of them.

Of course she’s had a _thing_ with Sylvain for a while. It’s not fair to say who hasn’t, unfair for either of them, but for a while they fit. It was like sitting back to back, pushing against each other to get enough strength and leverage to stand up - and once they were standing and free and could walk again, they went separate ways and checked in until Ingrid came into the picture.

By then it was too late. Something clicked for Ingrid and Sylvain, and Doro was too busy playing shows back to back to back to back to do anything about it. Since then she’s been… well, around. Around because the two of them are two of her best friends and nothing about how she feels about Ingrid Brandl Galatea is worth losing that.

She’s fought for Sylvain, literally - he’s held her back from tearing one of his ex’s throat out for saying something about Sylvain’s brother, and the time she saved Ingrid from some creep of a marriage prospect was probably the time she realized that she was in fucking love with her.

So yeah, Dorothea wants to snarl and stand and walk away from Sylvain and it’s only the raw honesty in his eyes that’s keeping her in her chair, waiting for Sylvain to finish.

“Of course I do too, but, we’ve talked that out already. I love Ingrid to death and you probably do too, and I have a proposal for you,” Sylvain continues. 

Dorothea’s eyebrows rise as high as they go. “A proposal?”

“Maybe I could have used a better word there, but it’s fine.”

“A proposal.” Somehow, she finds another millimeter and Sylvain raises a hand to calm her down.

He sighs, slumps back into his chair, then sits back up again, fingers picking at the curved edge of the couch she’s put on the other side of her desk. It’s a second before he takes another breath and continues. 

“Sleep with us. Sleep with her, spill all of your feelings out onto the floor, get drunk with us and show her.”

The offer hits Dorothea like a truck, and for once the many jabs she has reserved for Sylvain’s dumb ass ideas dissapear. 

Dorothea wants to laugh, but dammit Sylvain is so _serious_ that she can’t. For every one of his antics, he really fucking means it when he says he loves Ingrid Brandl Galatea so much that he risk losing her to his damn ex-girlfriend if that’s what she wanted. 

“What the fuck, Sylvain?” she says instead, keeping her face as still as she can.

Sylvain puts his forehead in his hands before looking back up at her. “Look, I’m not trying to fuck this up for you. I’m just saying, I love you, I love Ingrid, you love Ingrid, and I’m pretty damn sure she wants to sleep with you and doesn’t know how to bring it up with me, so I figure I’d save us all the trouble.”

There isn’t a hint of a joke in his eyes. 

“You’re absolutely serious aren’t you?”

“When am I not?” he replies, smiling. “For real, Doro. We’ve been dating long enough that I think we have shit figured out, and I know…”

Dorothea cuts him off before he can spill any more of her private thoughts at her. “Fucking. Okay, pretend I’m in. So what? When. Where? What’s this even gonna look like?”

Sylvain sits up again. “We’ll come to your place. I still have your spare key, when I text you that we’re there, just put a blindfold on and sit on the chair you have next to your bed, the one that we...”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey. How do you know I haven’t changed my room layout?”

Sylvain gives her a _look_ , and Doro sticks her tongue out at him. 

“Okay, fair. But a blindfold? You want me to confess my love for your girlfriend without seeing her?”

Sylvain rolls his eyes. “The point is for Ingrid to figure out that you like her, so there’s got to be surprise.”

There doesn’t _got to be_ anything, but Dorothea picks up on what Sylvain is trying to say. Honestly it would be harder to talk it out, and between Ingrid’s impulse, Sylvain’s horn dog ways, and Dorothea’s own penchant for performance, this might be better. 

_In other words_ , Dorothea thinks, _it’s gonna be a show_. Sylvain wants to put on a damn show for her and there’s something that should be terribly sweet about it, if not for the fact that the star of it all is Ingrid and the pit of Ingrid related worries in Dorothea’s stomach.

But at least she knows shows. Dorothea understands performances, and she's damn good at them. She knows what it means to pour yourself into a performance, and how to summon the depth of vulnerability it takes to stand out - in opera or otherwise. 

“This is suspiciously well thought out,” Dorothea muses, pointing a finger at him accusatory. “Sure you’re not just trying for a threesome?”

Sylvain grins - the stupid one that involves a lip bite and still manages to send a jolt through Dorothea’s belly, and she nods.

“Yeah, okay. Any other surprises or can I go get my bikini wax done for this… whatever it is?”

“You still have the same safeword, yeah? _Flower_?” 

This time, Dorothea blushes. “....Yeah...”

“Then trust me,” Sylvain says, pulling another chocolate bar out of his jacket pocket and dropping it on her desk. “And plan out a confession or something.”

He leaves her office with a wave and shuts the door, leaving Dorothea to wonder exactly what the hell she’d just gotten herself into. 

* * *

Ingrid text her first thing on the morning they’d set, and the ding of her phone sends butterflies through Dorothea’s stomach even though she’s just woken up, hair a mess and face buried in pillows.

 _Ingrid_ : This is okay, right? I know it’s… dramatic

Dorothea sits up and throws the phone over her shoulder and onto the bed to think about how exactly to reply. It takes half of her morning skincare routine to figure it out. 

One of the hundred worries about this… proposition, is that it would be awkward as hell for Sylvain to set up a threesome with _feelings_. Something about Ingrid knowing ahead of time it’s more than just sex and less than just an outright confession is almost comforting.

At least, that’s the thought that Dorothea takes with her into the shower, instead of thinking about Ingrid’s slim lips in between hers, or anything of the sort. There’s still a full day to prepare and clean her place before she can be bothered to think about _that_. 

Dorothea: ingy, I have been _waiting_ for this :kissyface:

Ing: see you tonight! ;)

By the time the hour arrives, Dorothea’s cleaned her place twice, hiding whatever messes she’s left in the last two weeks and is putting the finishing touches on getting her bed made when her phone dings again to tell her that the two are on the way over.

Dorothea heads to the kitchen to muse and drink. 

_It’s no secret_ , Dorothea thinks, _that I sometimes have crushes on my friends. And that I sometimes want to fuck them, just because this is both doesn’t mean I need to worry._

They’re surely not schoolchildren anymore, and this is not just a crush. Ingrid is… Dorothea’s wondered about the woman for years. Openly flirting with people is kind of her specialty, so that’s never been weird, but there’s always been a lick of serious interest that she’s tried to hold back and probably accidentally let slip by now.

She’s glad that Sylvain and Ingrid got their shit together and finally realized they were in love, but it was damn _weird_ \- the kind that sends a shiver of anticipation through Dorothea, not the creepy kind - for Sylvain to invite them both over to her bed under whatever guise she’d accepted. 

Threesomes are not new; hell, threesomes with _Sylvain_ are not new, but there’s something that twists just beneath her ribcage at the thought of a threesome with Ingrid Brandl Galatea.

First of all, Dorothea _still_ isn’t sure if she’s even into women, or has ever been with one. Second of all, her two dear friends are dating and probably should just get fucking married already, and for some reason they want to drag her into that mess.

Third of all - Dorothea pours a third shot out of the bottle of tequila and downs it without hesitation - third of all, _fuck_ is she horny for Ingrid Brandl Galatea.

 _It’s the way she blushes_ , Dorothea thinks. The way her cheeks glow bright red whenever Dorothea flirts a little _too_ much. The way she retreats behind Sylvian a little bit when she realizes Dorothea is nearly serious and Sylvain gives her a nod and what she hopes, now, in hindsight, is a _just you wait_ look and not a _you’re spooking her_ look.

Dorothea is madly in love with Ingrid Brandl Galatea and tonight Sylvain’s bringing his girlfriend and the object of her love to Dorothea’s condo and - _fuck._ She pours another drink and is about to pour another when her phone dings to let her know that they’ve arrived.

* * *

Her condo isn’t massive, but the bedroom is plenty spacious. Her bed sits in the middle of the room, with a small chest at the foot of the bed and her closet, covered by three large sliding mirrors, further past, leaving a small walkway from the door to the far side of her bed.

There’s big, light blocking curtains which she’s drawn, and she’s shut the lamps off except for the fairy lights strung up around the crowning of the ceiling, leaving the room in a faint orange that almost looks like candle light.

She lights one of those too, and sits on her office chair, pulling it away from the small desk on the other side of the room, and puts the damn blindfold on.

Fuck Sylvain, for this part, but honestly it helps. It helps the nerves that runs through Dorothea’s arms and gut, telling her that Ingrid fucking Brandl Galatea is about to step into her bedroom knowing that Sylvain’s brought her over for sex and some kind of conversation that she’s hemmed and hawed over how to say at some unspecified time.

 _Fuck_. Fuck. She can’t even focus - the air in her bedroom is cold, the vent is right over her damn desk, and Doro’s stupidly decided that lingerie and a dress is the right thing to wear for a threesome at her apartment and she rubs her legs together because it’s cold, dammit, not because she’s thinking about Ingrid between them.

Sylvain’s voice cuts through her thoughts. “Doro? We’re here.”

“Hey Dorothea,” Ingrid calls right after, and suddenly Dorothea gets nervous. What the hell, Ingrid’s about to walk into her blindfolded and cold and ready to be touched and she’s supposed to say, what? _Hey Ingrid, I love you, I love your boyfriend, fuck me please_? 

Like hell.

She hears the footsteps of the two walking into the room and Sylvain’s low chuckle and red tints her cheeks. How fucking dare.

It’s worse when she feels two warm bodies walk up next to her, blocking off the airflow from the AC. Ingrid’s the one in front of her, she decides; she can tell by her breath. It’s softer and a bit faster and it comes closer until Dorothea can feel the _whoosh_ of air on her bare neckline. She almost leans into it, when a pair of lips press into hers and she lets out a little _oh_ inadvertently.

Fucking. Hell.

“One for now, more for later,” Ingrid whispers, and retreats. Dorothea hears the footsteps on the hardwood floors pit pat away, hears the springs of mattress when Ingrid jumps onto the bed, and feels Sylvain come in closer behind her. It’s when he puts his hands on her shoulders that her breath finally settles from realizing that Ingrid Brandl Galatea just kissed her and she hasn’t had oxygen since. 

Sylvain slides his hands down her arms and whispers close so that she can feel his breath on her neck and she shivers.

“Hey Doro,” he says. “How you doing?”

“Cold,” she replies. “Asshole.”

Sylvain’s hands are warm, and they run over her shoulders and the side of her arms and cop a feel of her breasts anyway, because Sylvain _is_ an ass, and honestly she doesn’t mind so might right now, because the sound of some kind of clothing dropping onto the floor reminds her that Ingrid is on her bed and probably stripping. 

“Good. Here’s the plan, ‘Thea. Option one, I use these handcuffs on you so you stay on the chair. Pro: you won’t go anywhere. Con: it’s going to take longer to get you involved. Option two: you stay put like a good girl while I get Ingrid warmed up for you, and I’ll tell you when you can come over.”

Sylvain’s using his _top_ voice, which is usually hilarious because he’s only asked to do it a few times with her, but is presently _absolutely_ hot because she can imagine him using the same voice on Ingrid. _Goddamn_.

“It’s too cold for cuffs,” she replies. Sylvain’s hands have wormed their way onto the side of her ribs, and he’s inches from cupping her breasts. “I can stay put.”

“Good. It won’t be long. Ingrid’s been excited.”

“Can I take off my blindfold yet?” she asks, and Sylvain reaches over to cup the underside of her chest. 

“You ready, Ing?” Sylvain calls out.

“Mhm,” is the reply from the bed. Less than six feet away, is a naked Ingrid and Dorothea can just _imagine_ tracing her collarbones down with her lips. Her legs press against each other, and Sylvian leans so that his chin is on Dorothea’s shoulders, breath hot against her neck. 

“Go ahead, but don’t move.”

Dorothea nods and pulls off the blindfold and nearly falls off the chair anyway, despite Sylvain holding the back of it steady with his weight.

Ingrid’s naked on all fours in the middle of her bed, facing Dorothea, and she wants to faint right there and then. The woman has _shoulders_ , and they’re flexed holding her weight, and Doro can see Ingrid’s hips too, legs folded underneath, and she nearly breaks her promise to sit down and wait till Sylvain calls her over.

Ingrid smiles, and it looks like she’s about to wave when Sylvain walks over behind her. “Hey Doro,” she says. “Let me get ready for you, okay?”

For a second, it feels like a damn joke. Sylvain probably told her what to say, practiced it over a few times because Ingrid looks like she’s about to burst into laughter at how _ridiculous_ that sounds, but doesn’t for her sake. Dorothea’s glad for it - there has to be a sense of seriousness in the room right now because she’s _willingly_ sitting on a chair while the love of her life is naked on _her_ bed and Sylvain’s in the middle of stripping.

The realization hits her with a gasp as she realizes what _getting ready_ entails: they’re about to fuck on her bed. That’s it - that’s the damn _show_ that they’re putting on for her and she just gets to play the captive audience. 

It’s the raw, sheer willpower of not wanting to fuck up whatever Ingrid and Sylvian have planned for her that keeps her there as Sylvain lines himself up behind Ingrid.

“You guys are such fucking assholes,” Dorothea says, and Sylvain just _grins_ at her. 

“You’re so wet for her,” he says, placing his hands on Ingrid’s hips and guiding himself inside of her.

The look on Ingrid’s face is pointed right at Dorothea and is _maddening_ . There’s a hundred and two insults she wants to hurl at Sylvain, but all of them disappear when she sees the look on Ingrid’s face change from a dreamy smile to the ‘ _o’_ of her mouth as Sylvian starts moving their hips in rhythm.

A second later, she realizes that Ingrid’s eyes haven’t looked anywhere but her own as Sylvain picks up the pace.

“Fuck,” is all she can manage, hands gripping tight against the arms of the chair. Ingrid’s fingers are curled tight against her comforter, and and she can see the tight grip Sylvian has on Ingrid’s waist. There’s a low coil at the pit of her gut as she watches, mesmerized, Ingrid’s back curling as she rocks back against Sylvain.

It’s _hot_ , it’s hotter than hot, and the ache between her legs grows by the second. Dorothea rubs her thighs together, pushes her hips into the seat of her chair, does something to try to get some friction, and none of it helps 

It’s really wonderful, that the two of them are conspiring against her like this. Dorothea’s always found sex to be somewhere between horribly pragmatic and terribly dramatic. It’s at once an honest and physical thing - better than dance, which she’s never really found fulfilling - and a horribly vulnerable performance that rivals the worst of her pre-performance jitters.

There’s always so much _expectation_ : for a woman that looks and acts and sounds and dresses like Dorothea to act or be a certain way during sex; for her partner to be a certain kind of person worthy of it.

It’s one of the reasons she and Sylvain got along famously. They both have acts they can pull back in the bedroom, and they can be real with what they need.

Watching Sylvian and Ingrid’s dynamic - her hungry, demanding demeanor and Sylvain’s own willingness to give and give and give until he’s nothing and she’s everything - it’s breathtaking. She’s never watched this kind of love making before, and the thought that they want her to be part of it, to partake, somehow and slip right into the middle of it, to be part of this dynamic and performance sends an ache through her spine that she’s never really felt before.

 _This is what it is to be wanted_ , she decides. _To be wanted and needed and all it takes is patience._

It’s the mantra she repeats, because it takes every ounce of control to sit still. _It can’t have been that long, can it_ ? 

The sound of Ingrid’s breathy groans fills the room, fills Dorothea’s ears, and she watches, frozen, body hot and cold at once, breath uneven and hitched for what feels like ages.

But it’s only a few minutes until Ingrid’s low signs and groans turn into Dorothea’s name.

“Doro, _god,_ ” Ingrid whispers, hands clutched against Dorothea’s sheets, eyes shut and then opening rapidly to meet Dorothea’s eyes, mouth forming around Dorothea’s name, and her body shakes from the mere effort of sitting. She watches the way Ingrid blows the hair out of her eyes, which are bored right into Dorothea’s soul, the way her back arches when Sylvain hits _deep_ and the sound of his hips bumping into hers resonates through the room. 

It’s the hottest damn thing she’s ever seen, and Sylvain grins and reaches a hand around Ingrid’s front and Dorothea nearly breaks watching Ingrid shudder to an orgasm, groaning “ _Doro”_ as she sighs into the comforter. 

Sylvain thankfully wastes no time getting Dorothea involved. 

“Ready for her?” Sylvain asks, and Ingrid nods, still focused on Dorothea. 

“Okay Doro, your turn.”

Dorothea never stood so fast in her life. She power walks to the bed and kisses Ingrid so hard it feels like her own breath’s stopped. Ingrid kisses back, and Dorothea thinks she could come right there if she tried hard enough. Her kiss is urgent, lips parting hungrily and capturing Dorothea’s own, voice muffled behind their mouths.

Then Ingrid sits up and pulls Dorothea onto the bed and the other woman’s hands grasp at the zipper behind her dress.

Dorothea kneels on the bed, strips the dress over her shoulders, and dips back to kiss Ingrid again, hoping the action can take the place of the words she can’t seem to find.

It’s not fair - it’s not. Ingrid’s hands are everywhere, cold and touching every inch of Dorothea’s body that they can. Her bra comes off quickly and Ingrid dips to kiss her just under her collarbone, sucking the skin until it’s red and stings and Dorothea just weaves her hand into Ingrid’s blonde hair.

Sylvain just sits on the bed next to them, doing his best to be thoughtful and encouraging.

“Doro likes it when you bite behind her ear when you touch her,” he says, and Ingrid listens, shoving Dorothea down so that she’s flat on her back. One of Ingrid’s hands reaches between Dorothea’s legs and strokes the wet spot that she’s been trying to ignore at the same time as lips bite her earlobe, and Doro’s eyes rolls into the back of her head as she gasps and squeezes her legs around Ingrid’s finger.

“Fucking, you two…” she manages before Ingrid kisses her on the lips again.

‘That’s the plan,” Sylvain says, and his hot hands are on Dorothea’s calf. 

“How do we do this, Ingrid?” he asks, and Ingrid turns her head so that Dorothea can kiss her cheek while she talks.

“Give it to Doro, Sylvain. We’ve teased her too much.”

“You sure?” Sylvain says, and Doroteha’s leg wraps around Ingrid’s. “She’s been saying a lot of mean things.”

Ingrid just nods and kisses her on the mouth again, warm lips making Dorothea forget the insule she’s had queued up.

“Yeah. I’ll keep her mouth busy.”

Another set of hands - Sylvain’s, this time - strokes Dorothea between the legs, sending a jolt of lightning through her spine that Ingrid hungrily captures, hands now around her breasts, teasing mercilessly. Then, Dorothea feels her underwear slip off.

It takes a minute of shuffling to get everyone in position.

Ingrid’s laying on her back in the center of the bed, legs spread so that Dorothea’s head can slide right over her hips. Dorothea’s taken Ingrid’s position on all fours, and Sylvain’s standing beside her, finger trailing delicately between her legs. Every brush of his fingertip sends fire through her hips and the tops of her legs, and she can’t bite back the groan that escapes her lips.

Dorothea looks down at Ingrid, who’s smiling at her again, before Ingrid’s hand pulls Dorothea’s mouth down until she can taste Ingrid. She’s able to focus for a second until she feels Sylvain’s length behind her.

Sylvain’s always known how to make Dorothea feel good, but having the sound of Ingrid’s encouragement at the same time is almost too much for her senses. Ingrid’s responsive, mewling when Dorothea gently bites the sides of her thighs and offers a long, slow pass of her tongue. Ingrid’s hands are active, too, pushing Dorothea down where she needs pressure.

“Right there Doro, please,” Ingrid says, and Doro can feel the growing heat in her stomach. She clenches her own hips, drops her weight to her arms so that she can give Ingrid what she’s asking for, and is rewarded by a slow, _full_ thrust from Sylvain.

She can see why Ingrid and Sylvain are such a good fit together. Sylvain always liked to serve, and Ingrid just demands what she needs. Dorothea feels the yank on her hair as Ingrid redirects her again, and Sylvain changes his angle so that he hits _that_ particular spot that she’s asked him to hit a dozen times, and Dorothea can barely breathe. Her mouth is held close against Ingrid’s wetness and Sylvain speeds up so that Dorothea’s frantic gasps of air are almost too slow.

She finishes a minute after Ingrid does. The woman traps her head in between her legs, she can feel the soft skin of her thighs up against her cheeks and ears, and Ingrid’s voice is better than a song. She’s done this, she’s caused this, it’s her actions that have resulted in the sweet sound of Ingrid’s airy whimpers and the way she bites the back of her hand so hard there’s teeth marks when they brush up against Dorothea’s face.

Sylvain waits until Ingrid’s breath is back to normal to bury himself inside Dorothea the way she likes, dragging himself out of her slowly and fucking her fast until she comes. Ingrid holds her hands and keeps eye contact and Dorothea’s never had a better orgasm in her life. 

She’s just been fucked out of her mind by Sylvain while Ingrid Brandl Galatea had front row seats, and Dorothea’s delirious, collapsing over Ingrid, who cups the back of her head and pulls her up so that she can lay on Ingrid’s shoulders.

Sylvain walks over by them and Ingrid whispers to Dorothea. “Do you want to finish him, or should I?”

The offer brings some energy back to Dorothea’s body. She opens her eyes and pulls herself up over Ingrid, knees framing her hips, arms over her shoulders, until she’s eye level with Sylvain’s cock, and he finishes in her mouth, holding the condom on with his hand before he slumps over for a second.

Dorothea collapses onto Ingrid again, kissing her on the cheek and neck. 

* * *

“I’ll give you two a minute,” Sylvain says after a minute, standing up and beelining for the bathroom.

Ingrid rolls over to face Dorothea, who can’t resist stealing a kiss.

“I hope that was fun, Doro,” Ingrid says, drawing an arm over her. “Thanks for waiting so long for us to get our shit together.”

The affirmation is almost better than the sex. She _has_ been waiting - waiting to see if she’d just be their friend, or whether Ingrid saw something more than that. Waiting to find out whether they’d ever let her into their bed, or come into hers for a night. 

Dorothea just nods and crushes an eye into a pillow to hide the moisture forming, and Ingrid continues.

“Sylvain told me to stay on the offensive, so.” Ingrid stops talking and leans in to kiss Dorothea again, this time slow and careful.

It’s a tender kiss that Dorothea thinks she’s been waiting for for years. It nearly happened, back then when Ingrid broke off the date with her would-be-piece-of-shit of a suitor, after Dorothea revealed his true colors. Then, Ingrid had been just inches away before they both broke off.

Now, Ingrid’s lips speak what Dorothea’s waited to hear. _Thank you. I care about you so much. Stay by my side._ Words that have been masked and hidden behind blushes and interpreted through Sylvain’s looks. 

Ingrid’s voice is a careful, satisfied whisper. “You and Sylvain can share me, I guess. We can worry about everything else later.”

Sylvain returns a few minutes later with towels, bottles of water, and a small tray of snacks that they’d brought over, sets them on a rolling cart to the side of the bed, and finds space on Dorothea’s other side to lay, his chest pressed against Dorothea’s back.

“Didn’t even need to safeword,” he says, and Dorothea lazily reaches over to flick him on the shoulder.

“Didn’t give me a chance to.”

“Don’t worry,” Ingrid says, nuzzling her face into Dorothea’s neck. “We’re not done tonight.”

**Author's Note:**

> bear fact #1 - "female bears rouse during hibernation in their dens"
> 
> bear fact #2 - "yes, all bears love the taste of honey."
> 
> bear fact #3 - "climate change is a significant threat to bears."


End file.
